was saying: “Don’t wait in there if it looks like trouble, Nico. She’s not a glider. Punch out if it looks bad.”
“We’re not there yet. She’s handling perfectly. I’m watching her. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry, he says.”
The descent continued without drama, then it was time to set up for the landing. The tower left him to it, wisely choosing not to distract him with useless queries. If he had a problem, they’d soon know about it.
Speed was now down to 250 knots, just over 460 kilometers per hour. Time to lower the flaps and gear. The wheels came down and he trimmed the aircraft in the new configuration. No control problem. No fire. But not the time to be complacent. The engine could blow at any moment. Flaps fully extended to landing configuration. Engine to 93 percent, boundary layer blowing coming on, helping the flaps to give more lift. 180 knots now, creeping down to 175.
Runway threshold coming up. Speed over it at well over 300 kilometers an hour. Nearly 325. Air brakes out. Throttle back. 75 percent power now. 152 knots. Here’s the runway. Wham. Braking chute out, streaming behind the tail. Powerful retardation. Slowing down. Safe.
Safe!
Fire warning light still blinking. Lousy malfunction. Must be. But still nochances to be taken. Drop chute. Fire engines following, just in case. Ambulances too. Sorry, boys. No trade for you today.
Sweat was on Bagni’s brow, and his entire head felt sticky within the helmet. He taxied off the runway and stopped well away from other aircraft. He shut down the engine. The warning light was still on. He shut down all systems swiftly. Snap harness release. Canopy open. Someone had put the ladder against the aircraft: one of the fire crew, in full gear.
Bagni started to climb out, keeping his helmet on. He glanced at the instrument panel. The fire warning light was out. Even so. A hot engine can still explode. He got out of the Starfighter quickly and hurried well away from it. What had taken seconds, had seemed a lifetime. Seconds only, from landing to a full stop.
He removed his helmet, and turned to look as Baldassare swept over to break for entry into the circuit. He glanced at his own aircraft now surrounded by the fire crews, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. The aircraft was perfectly all right. The ambulance gave him a lift back to the squadron.
Baldassare landed smoothly, giving the ambulance a thumbs-up as he taxied by.
After the debrief, Baldassare was hushed. A quick check of the aircraft by the ground crew had discovered two things: the fire warning light had indeed malfunctioned: chillingly, however, a hairline crackhad been found in one of the fuel feed pipes that ran atop the main tanks, beneath the Starfighter’s spine. Had Bagni continued hard maneuvering and used the engine robustly, the crack might have widened to spew fuel all over the hot engine, resulting in a catastrophic fire.
“So all along,” Baldassare was saying in wonder, “you did have an emergency, Nico.” He shook his head, marvelling, and held a forefinger and thumb together. “That close to a fire. A guardian angel made that warning light blink. I think I’ll ask the Colonnello to keep me flying with you. You’re lucky. A pilot needs to be lucky sometimes.”
Bagni smiled. “You don’t need me, Vitto. You’re a good pilot.”
“Perhaps, but not an artist like ‘E1 Greco.’ You must teach me how.”
Bagni put a hand on the younger pilot’s shoulder. “I don’t think there’s much I can teach you—but if the Colonnello agrees, you can be my wingman for as long as you like.”
Baldassare grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now to some real business. I hope you’re not going far this weekend because the guys and I have planned a little something tonight to celebrate your advancement to capitano. After your close shave with the fire, we intend to make it something you’ll remember. You’ll need the weekend to recover! The
“We’re not there yet. She’s handling perfectly. I’m watching her. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry, he says.”
The descent continued without drama, then it was time to set up for the landing. The tower left him to it, wisely choosing not to distract him with useless queries. If he had a problem, they’d soon know about it.
Speed was now down to 250 knots, just over 460 kilometers per hour. Time to lower the flaps and gear. The wheels came down and he trimmed the aircraft in the new configuration. No control problem. No fire. But not the time to be complacent. The engine could blow at any moment. Flaps fully extended to landing configuration. Engine to 93 percent, boundary layer blowing coming on, helping the flaps to give more lift. 180 knots now, creeping down to 175.
Runway threshold coming up. Speed over it at well over 300 kilometers an hour. Nearly 325. Air brakes out. Throttle back. 75 percent power now. 152 knots. Here’s the runway. Wham. Braking chute out, streaming behind the tail. Powerful retardation. Slowing down. Safe.
Safe!
Fire warning light still blinking. Lousy malfunction. Must be. But still nochances to be taken. Drop chute. Fire engines following, just in case. Ambulances too. Sorry, boys. No trade for you today.
Sweat was on Bagni’s brow, and his entire head felt sticky within the helmet. He taxied off the runway and stopped well away from other aircraft. He shut down the engine. The warning light was still on. He shut down all systems swiftly. Snap harness release. Canopy open. Someone had put the ladder against the aircraft: one of the fire crew, in full gear.
Bagni started to climb out, keeping his helmet on. He glanced at the instrument panel. The fire warning light was out. Even so. A hot engine can still explode. He got out of the Starfighter quickly and hurried well away from it. What had taken seconds, had seemed a lifetime. Seconds only, from landing to a full stop.
He removed his helmet, and turned to look as Baldassare swept over to break for entry into the circuit. He glanced at his own aircraft now surrounded by the fire crews, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. The aircraft was perfectly all right. The ambulance gave him a lift back to the squadron.
Baldassare landed smoothly, giving the ambulance a thumbs-up as he taxied by.
After the debrief, Baldassare was hushed. A quick check of the aircraft by the ground crew had discovered two things: the fire warning light had indeed malfunctioned: chillingly, however, a hairline crackhad been found in one of the fuel feed pipes that ran atop the main tanks, beneath the Starfighter’s spine. Had Bagni continued hard maneuvering and used the engine robustly, the crack might have widened to spew fuel all over the hot engine, resulting in a catastrophic fire.
“So all along,” Baldassare was saying in wonder, “you did have an emergency, Nico.” He shook his head, marvelling, and held a forefinger and thumb together. “That close to a fire. A guardian angel made that warning light blink. I think I’ll ask the Colonnello to keep me flying with you. You’re lucky. A pilot needs to be lucky sometimes.”
Bagni smiled. “You don’t need me, Vitto. You’re a good pilot.”
“Perhaps, but not an artist like ‘E1 Greco.’ You must teach me how.”
Bagni put a hand on the younger pilot’s shoulder. “I don’t think there’s much I can teach you—but if the Colonnello agrees, you can be my wingman for as long as you like.”
Baldassare grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now to some real business. I hope you’re not going far this weekend because the guys and I have planned a little something tonight to celebrate your advancement to capitano. After your close shave with the fire, we intend to make it something you’ll remember. You’ll need the weekend to recover! The
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